


the hard work of being happy

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Chapter and Verse (Varric Tethras x Min Hawke) [12]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age), Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 01:38:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13648752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: Varric's awoken in the night by Min Hawke, who's made a painful realization about her relationship with Anders.  It's up to Varric to be a good friend... no matter his own feelings.





	the hard work of being happy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Falling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297326) by [LoonyLupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin). 



The knock at Varric’s door was sharp, frantic.  It startled him awake, his heart hammering in his chest.  “Who is it?” he called, squinting towards the door in the dim light of the fading fire .  He sat up and threw off the covers, reaching for his tunic with one hand and Bianca with the other. **  
**

“It’s me,” Hawke called, her voice low and thick.  He stopped still.  He’d only heard her sound that way once before, the night Leandra died.  Fuck.

Varric left Bianca in her corner, fumbled with pulling his tunic over his head.  He shimmied into the previous day’s trousers and padded to the door in his bare feet, his head spinning with possibilities, none of them pleasant.  He undid the catches on the locks and pulled the door open.

Hawke was… well, she was a mess.  He could smell the alcohol on her even without her opening her mouth, and her makeup was smudged and streaked.  She dragged a hand beneath her eyes, wiping at tears, and blinked down at him.  “Varric,” she whispered.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

Varric took her by the arm, ushering her in and closing the door behind her.  He chucked a few more logs on the hearth fire.  “C’mon, c’mon.  It’s okay, Hawke.”  He led her to the table, took a seat beside her, his stomach roiling unpleasantly.  This was something  _bad_.  “What’s going on?  Is it Bethany?”

Hawke shook her head, her dark hair like ribbons.  “It’s Anders,” she said, and brought her hands to her face, stifling a sob.  

“What happened?  Did he – is he all right?”

“Yes, yes, he’s at home, asleep,” she choked out.  She lowered her hands, sniffing as she attempted to compose herself.  “He doesn’t know I’m here.  He fell asleep tonight after we fought again, and I drank the wine I had at home, and I didn’t have anything else, so I came here and I drank more and then the bartender threatened to kick me out which I very much did  _not_  appreciate and I – I came to see you instead.  I’m sorry.  I can go.”

Varric reached out, laid his hand over hers.  Just for a moment.  Not too long; he knew he shouldn’t linger, should only stay just long enough to let her feel his worry.  He pulled away, crossing his arms.  “Hawke.”

She gazed at him.  “Varric.”

“Talk to me,” he said.  “I want to help.”  And he did, yeah, wanted what was best for her like any friend would, wanted her to be happy.  He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back jealous fantasies of helping her realize who she truly loved, declaring his feelings for her, riding off into a Kirkwall sunset (or walking, since horses were terrible).  

Stupid shit, really.

He opened his eyes and saw no fantasies, just Hawke tired, frightened, needing his help.  “You can tell me anything, Hawke.”

She smiled at him, and even if it was faint and watery, it was something. “I’ve been so grateful for you, Varric.  You’ve never let me down.”

“Well, there was that time in the Fade,” he began with a grin.

She waved a hand at him.  “No, no, it’s all right, all my friends are terrible people, I understood perfectly.”  

“You want to talk?”

“Yes.”  She heaved a great sigh.  “We’ve been having trouble for a while.  Anders is  _secretive_  now.  I know for a fact he’s lied to me more than once.  I’ve been getting so lonely, so angry, and tonight I finally admitted to myself….”  She stared past Varric, focusing on the distant wall.  “I think he might do something terrible.  He’s sick, somehow.”

“Like possession shit?  Like Justice gaining control?” asked Varric.

“Not exactly; at least, I don’t think it’s Justice directly.”  She was pensive, calmer now, considering.  “I don’t know.  It’s like something in his head, in his mind, that’s still him – but it’s all mixed up.  Some days he’s so grandiose, so certain he’s going to save the world.  He doesn’t sleep then; he just writes all night or spends the night in the clinic helping people or… sometimes I’m not sure where he goes.   And some days his mind is  _so dark_ , Varric, like I’m afraid to look down into it for fear it’ll steal all the light I have, and he sleeps and sleeps like a dead man, and when he does wake I find him crying in the study, and he’s so  _lost_  –”  She reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it hard enough her knuckles whitened and his hand throbbed.  “I don’t know how to help him!”

Her hand was warm and strong as it squeezed the life out of his palm.  Hawke hastily pulled it back.  “Don’t know my own strength sometimes,” she said, fidgeting with her fingers.

Varric gave her a wan smile and rested his head in his hands, thinking.   _Forget about Blondie, Hawke.  He’s no good for you, not like this.  Wouldn’t you rather have someone without all that baggage, someone with his shit together?  A best friend, perhaps?  Just a thought._ He let out a long breath from his nose, his lips thinning.  

He knew the advice he’d give if it was anyone else.  Not happy anymore?  Talk it out or leave, end of story.  But this was  _Hawke_ , this was Min fucking Hawke, and how the hell could he trust himself to be objective?  The fear nagged at him that no matter what he said, no matter what came out of his mouth, that it would be angling to push her into his arms.  Unfairly.  Selfishly.

He knew he could do it, too.  Had done it before.  Bianca’s letters, triple-locked and booby-trapped, were hidden in the secret drawer of the chest that sat two feet away.  Damning proof of a love that only worked through cheating, subterfuge, lies.  The difference was that Varric and Bianca had always been alike that way; something he’d loved in her, something he’d hated in himself.  The ends justified the means, didn’t they?

Hawke’s hands were dirty in a hundred different ways, but not this one.

He spoke haltingly.  It was suddenly very important that he get it right.  “Couple of questions for you, Hawke.  If you want my advice.”

“And I do.  I very much do.  You always know just the right thing to say,” Hawke said, staring hopefully at him.

Yeah, that one hurt.  “Question one.  You still love him?”  He stumbled over it.  His mouth didn’t want to make the words.

“Yes,” she said, and there was sudden fire in her, flaring determination, brilliant passion.  In the flickering light from the hearth, shadows deep beneath her brows and cheekbones, she was damn formidable.  He nodded, mostly to himself.

“So… you definitely want to fix things.  And he still loves you?”

On this she was less certain, taking a moment to answer; it tore at him.   _If it was me, she’d never have to wonder._ “He tells me every day, even when we’re… distant.  I think so.  I – I hope so.”

“Have you told him what you just told me?”  He leaned back in his chair and counted the beams of the ceiling, hoping to find some resolve among the sight of wood and plaster.

“Not exactly.  No.  I’ve only just started to put it into words tonight, what I’m feeling, why I’m angry.  Why I’m scared,” said Hawke.  “Hence the wine.  And the ale.  And the whiskey.”  She hiccuped.  “Maker’s balls, that is not how I meant that sentence to end.”

“Shit, Hawke, I hope you had some water.”

She waved a hand at him.  “A little.  I’ll be fine.”

“So… first thing, I’d say you need to tell him.  Tell him how you feel, tell him what he’s doing wrong by you and give him a chance to fix it.  Second thing, have you asked him how you can help him?”

She was quiet for a minute.  He looked back at her, saw her brushing her hair back away from her face.  “Yes and no.  I – perhaps not exactly.”

“So ask him.  Hopefully he’ll tell you.  But Hawke, listen to me.”

Hawke leaned in.  This close he could see her eyelashes, kohl smudged onto them; he could see a faint scar on her chin he wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed before.  Her mouth was pink, pulled sharp to one side in concentration.   _Get it right, dwarf._

“Third thing, have you asked him if he wants to be helped?”

She pulled back, suddenly bristling, shoulders squaring.  “What kind of a question is that?  Of course he would want help.  Why wouldn’t he?”

Varric held up his hands, heart beating more quickly.  “I don’t know, I don’t know.  But I think you have to ask.  Just a feeling.”

Hawke frowned, troubled, swaying slightly in her seat.  “Why wouldn’t he –” she said, trailing off.  She sighed.  “All right.  I’ll ask him.”

Varric spoke again, this time before he could help it, a question that he knew he shouldn’t be the one to ask.  He asked it anyway.  He couldn’t seem to control his voice – did he really sound that way, so plaintive, so  _open?_   “Are you happy with him?”

She scrubbed at her eyes with her hands, fighting back tears again.  “I don’t know anymore, Varric,” she whispered.

“Then you don’t have to stay.”

The suggestion hung heavy between them, thicker than the firesmoke or the darkness at the edges of the room, beyond the light’s touch.  For a moment, neither of them spoke.  For a moment, he knew, he  _knew_ , that he had revealed everything, dropped his cards face up into her lap, might as well have gone ahead and breathed into her ear  _I love you, Min_  –

Then the moment broke.  Hawke tilted her head to one side.  Leaned back, regarding him.  “I know.”  She took a deep breath.  “But if anything happened, if I left without trying and he hurt himself – I could never live with myself, Varric.  Like I can’t forgive myself for Mum.  And Carver.  And Bethany.”

“Bethany’s fine,” he tried to protest.  “It wasn’t your fault she got sick.”

“Being in the Wardens isn’t fine.  Not for Bethany.  If I hadn’t brought her down there, she’d still be here with me, not far away and hating the nightmares and the killing and the darkness.  And as for Mum and Carver, if I could have done anything to save them, Varric, I would.  If I can save Anders, if I can save the man I love, then isn’t a little unhappiness worth it?”  She was panting now, luminous in the firelight.  

Varric just looked at her.   _The man I love_.  The words thundered, roaring in his ears.  Right.  Right.

He smiled at her.  Hoped she didn’t see the tremor in it.  Hoped she could understand that he only ever wanted her to be happy.  And if this was what she wanted —

“There’s our Hawke.  Fierce as hell.  So go get ‘im.”

She softened.  “I know you told me it wasn’t a good idea to be with him.  I know you’ll say you told me so—”

Sure, if he was dead set on scoring points, he could say something to that effect.  But the anguish in her eyes was real.  Red-rimmed and miserable, they held a pain that made him ache to his bones.   He swallowed.

“No. I’d never say that to you, Hawke.  Not on something like this.”

“Mind you, you’re probably right.”  She was rueful.  “Still, I have to do this.  I have to try.  So if it goes sideways, thanks for not rubbing it in.”  She pulled her chair close to his, and leaned toward him.  Before he realized what had happened, she was hugging him hard.  She trembled against him, warm and soft and grasping, her hands clinging to his back as if she was drowning.  

He raised his arms and pulled her closer.  She exhaled, slowly, her breath warm and whiskied against his cheek.  He buried his face in her shoulder, reached up to stroke her hair, gently smoothed it with an unsteady hand.  

Romantic scenes flashed through his head, shit he’d dreamed of, foolishly, in lonely moments.  The great reveal.  The heartfelt confession.  Her smile, spreading slowly into a delighted beam, imagined a hundred times, a thousand.  The feel of her mouth against his, the feel of her skin against his –

But he held her still and safe against him, and their chests rose and fell together, and he kept his big mouth shut.  There might be a moment, someday.  

It wasn’t tonight.

* * *

She left a few moments later, mostly sober now, still apologetic, Varric assuring her she had nothing to apologize for.  She closed the door behind her, and Varric sat there in his chair in front of the fire, its heat stifling even though the embers had begun to die.

He should get up, he told himself; shouldn’t dwell.  He hoped she could find what she needed.

He didn’t get up.  His only movement was to bring his hand to his face, fingers curled along his jaw, palm pressed tight over his lips, thumb gripping his cheekbone hard.  His eyes burned, but it wasn’t from the smoke.

He sat there, staring into the flames until they blurred.  He sat there a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Received a prompt from [The Boring Baker](http://theboringbaker.tumblr.com):
> 
> _Prompt????? So Varric / f!Hawke where Hawke is confiding some concerns about Anders’ spiraling passion/obsession with mage freedom/destroying the templars being scary/too Justice-y and no longer Anders?? And Varric has a Hard Time with being the Trusty Sidekick?? I dunno maybe its requited and she realizes hes better for her or maybe its not and varric is sad?? Maybe around act 2/3 idk have fun I just love hawke/varric so much gdi this dwarf and his lovely garbage fire human_
> 
> Note: occurs the same night as Falling: Intercedence (Chapter 7). I also illustrated the ending to this piece here. [aaaah sad Varric :(](http://doodlingfoolishness.tumblr.com/post/170677866557/varric-sat-there-in-front-of-the-fading-fire-its)


End file.
